Last night I had a panic attack. Today I was really stressed, anxious, sad and even angry. I cried a lot. The last three days have been significantly harder days. I guess life isn’t going to become magically easy now that we have the van.
That’s not to say life isn’t easier, it’s definitely easier. That’s part of the problem. We’re not in survival mode anymore and coming out of survival mode means facing the overwhelming task of rebuilding a stable life out of this crazy mess.
Will we ever find a place where we can camp long term? Will we ever get into a good rhythm where Brett can actually work consistently so we can be financially stable? Where we never run out of clean laundry? Where we can cook healthy meals every day and don’t have to live on almond flour crackers and grass-fed beef sticks anymore?
Not to mention, transitioning away from survival mode also opens the door to grief. I know this from past experiences. The grief doesn’t usually take over until there’s a break in the intensity of the circumstances. Frankly, this terrifies me. The pile of unprocessed suffering and loss in my life is as tall as a mountain. I’m not sure I really want to face it.
Sara Mattson, my mold avoidance mentor, also reminded me that getting the van means that now I’m sleeping in a really pristine bed. Which, based on the experience of other mold avoiders, probably means that my body is going to be ramping up its detoxification rate again. That might explain the mood swings, the brain fog, and why I’m not feeling so wonderful in the van. I’m probably spewing toxins all over it.
It really comforted me to be reminded of that. Maybe this is just my body continuing to do good healing work. We just need to stay on top of wiping the van down and airing it out as much as possible. It’s all going to be okay. Ups and downs are a natural part of this journey.
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